


With Envy

by sciencefictioness



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dissociation, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sibling Incest, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: What they are has always been enough, in the privacy of their rooms, in the shadow of Hanzo’s blankets.It doesn’t feel like enough right now, Jesse glancing between them with a question in his gaze.With heat in his gaze.  It’s subtle, the way he’s looking Hanzo over, but Genji can see the interest there.“We’re together,” Hanzo says, voice a little breathless.  Genji’s head snaps towards him, brows raised in surprise. Jesse isn’t paying him any attention, looking at Hanzo with a smile.“Oh, yeah?”  There’s some disappointment in his voice, but he hides it fairly well.  “Boyfriends, huh?”Hanzo’s cheeks are flushed pink.  He won’t look at Genji, glancing at his hands on the bar as he fiddles with his shot glass.“He’s…” Hanzo pauses.  Swallows. “We’re married.”All Genji can hear is his heart pounding in his ears.He can’t stop the ridiculous grin from spreading across his face.  Jesse laughs, and it’s loud, and genuine.“Aww, look at that fuckin’ face.  Newlyweds?"Hanzo’s cheeks go even brighter.  Genji bumps his shoulder into Hanzo’s hard enough to rock him to the side.“Something like that."
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 9
Kudos: 156





	With Envy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day four of Shimadacest week, 'green'.

They run.

Sojiro’s ashes are barely in the ground, and Hanzo and Genji are gone.

Hanzo has been a shell of himself for so long, it’s hard to remember what he was like before Sojiro broke him. Not that he hasn’t always been broken, to some extent.

Not that Genji isn’t broken, too.

There was a time though, when Genji looked across the dojo to see Hanzo staring back at him, eyes shimmering with something heated. When Genji crawled into his bed, and Hanzo blinked up at him with want written into every inch of himself. When they pulled the blankets over their heads and kissed until their mouths were sore.

When they slipped over rooftops side by side, fingers tangled together, blood on both their hands.

It’s been months since Hanzo has let Genji touch him. Sojiro got sick, and the cruelty in him flared until it was blinding. Hanzo couldn’t stand in the face of it. His dragon kept him strong, even as his body failed, the elders not giving an inch when Genji railed against them. He tested their reach, tested their strength. 

Genji didn’t find them wanting. The elders took Hanzo by the elbow,  _ come with me, young master.  _ Hanzo’s eyes went vacant as he followed.

Hanzo sat at Sojiro’s side,  _ yes, father. I understand, father.  _ He barely looked at Genji anymore.

Genji crawled in his bed,  _ Hanzo, please.  _ Hanzo shook when Genji touched him, the way he shook when Sojiro touched him. No better than his father.

Genji stumbled outside to be sick, and never came back again. 

Then Sojiro died. It was only the third thing he’s ever given Genji that’s worth a damn. Sojiro gave him a dragon. Sojiro gave him Hanzo.

Sojiro’s heart stopped beating, and Genji could breathe. Hanzo isn’t as broken as Genji thought; he’s ready to run, just like Genji is ready to run. They’ve both got money secreted away from the clan’s prying eyes; cash and weapons hidden all over Japan, all over the world. New documents with different names; visas, and passports, and IDs. Genji had things prepared for Hanzo.

Hanzo had things prepared for Genji. They have a dozen new identities between them, both waiting for the timing to be right. 

It’s Hanzo who moves first. For once, he doesn’t hesitate.

They bury Sojiro, and neither one of them mourns. Then Hanzo comes into Genji’s room that night,  _ wake up, Genji. _

_ It’s time to go. _

They’re slipping through the back gates of the castle when Genji hears the explosions, one right after another. Hanzo doesn’t flinch at the sound. He’s still moving forward, eyes straight ahead, chin raised high. He’s willing to tear their father’s legacy to pieces to help them get away clean. 

Genji loves him more than the air in his lungs. The rhythmic pounding of his heart.

Genji would die for him, a thousand times. 

Hanzo still flinches when Genji reaches for his hand. 

He pulls back, giving Hanzo space. Some things will take time, and they’re barely off the castle grounds, still deep in Hanamura. Everything feels surreal, like he’s walking through a dream. Hanzo leads him to a motorcycle sitting behind the ramen shop, pulling a set of keys out of his pocket and climbing on. The bike is sleek, and black, and powerful. It’s familiar, the way he takes the handlebars. He’s ridden it before, more than once. Genji wonders when. Wonders why.

Genji climbs on behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, Hanzo’s bow making it awkward. He manages, though. Presses his face into the curve of Hanzo’s shoulder even with the bow digging painfully into his chest..

The motorcycle roars to life, and they go.

-

They’re in China.

They’re in Russia.

They’re covered in blood in alleyways. They’re in hotel rooms stepping over bodies and broken glass. 

They’re in Belarus. Poland. Germany. France.

Hanzo is slitting an assassin’s throat with an arrowhead. Genji is sinking his wakizashi between someone’s ribs. They’re in Spain, in Portugal.

They’re out on the ocean at night, nothing but black water and shimmering stars. They’re together, always. They eat together, take turns sleeping.

Hanzo still flinches when Genji gets too close. Less, now. Little by little. He whimpers and reaches for Genji in his sleep, settles when Genji holds him. Genji is safe, at least in his dreams. They are both alive, and far from home. 

For the rest, Genji can wait.

-

They’re in America, never in any one place for too long at first, even if it’s been months since Genji has killed any wayward yakuza. Months since Hanzo has put a knife in anyone’s heart. After a while the running wears on them. Hanzo starts wearing wildly different clothes, and cuts his hair on a whim. 

Genji aches with the need to touch it. Hanzo has never been closer, but he’s still so far away. 

They settle in the city and pick a pair of names, not that it matters much. They’re not here to make friends. They rent a ramshackle apartment that sits just above a bar. 

It would be generous to call the neighborhood questionable. It’s easier to disappear into the background among the drunks and drug addicts. Sirens, and car alarms, someone always yelling in the distance. They don’t need to work. There’s no clan business to attend to, anymore.

At first, they’re mostly creeping through the streets around their apartment and getting the lay of the land. Figuring out escape routes, hiding weapons— which balconies they can access from the outside, which alleys are dead ends. It doesn’t take long for Genji to feel relatively safe; it isn’t home.

Genji is glad.

They still take turns sleeping. The habit is hard to shake when it’s saved their lives so many times already, but there is only so much hypervigilance that Genji can stand. No one else is after them. If they are, it isn’t anyone dangerous. 

The clan doesn’t have anyone dangerous left. All that’s left of the Shimada are Hanzo, and Genji. A handful of old men playing yakuza across the world.

They’ve been at the apartment less than two weeks when Genji manages to drag Hanzo to the bar downstairs. It’s a Friday night, and the place is fairly crowded, billiard balls clacking and smoke in the air. It’s not the kind of place Genji used to frequent— there is no dance floor to speak of, and the only neon lights are in the beer signs scattered along the walls. There are pool tables, cheap beer and bad music, but it’s just down a couple flights of stairs and Hanzo doesn’t take much convincing. He’s just as stir crazy as Genji, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

A half dozen shots of terrible vodka between the two of them, and Hanzo is finally smiling, rolling his eyes at something Genji has said but laughing anyway. His nose is wrinkled, teeth bright against his lips. The clan is gutted, thousands of miles away. Genji is warm all over; Hanzo is so gorgeous. 

Genji wants to kiss him.

“I’ll be right back,” Genji says, touching the back of Hanzo’s hand as he stands. 

Hanzo gives him a nod, and Genji weaves through the crowd to the bathroom, pissing and taking a moment to splash water on his face. He looks at himself in the mirror, frowning at the sight. His hair has been black for months now, since the first night they left Hanamura. Vivid green isn’t the best color for blending in on the run, but Genji finds he misses it. Maybe when everything feels calmer, Hanzo will dye it for him again. 

Genji closes his eyes and thinks of Hanzo’s fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp through black latex gloves. Hanzo tipping his head back over the sink, hand over Genji’s eyes to keep the water out of them, the scent of bleach thick in the air.

The creaking of the bathroom door brings him back to himself. There’s a drunk staggering inside towards the urinals, clumsily pawing at his jeans. Genji sighs and slips out into the bar again, eyes seeking out Hanzo automatically. When they find him, Genji freezes.

There’s a man standing behind Hanzo’s barstool, pressed against his side, arm thrown over his shoulders. His other hand is resting on Hanzo’s thigh, rubbing insistently there, easing higher and higher. He’s leaned down, whispering something in Hanzo’s ear. Hanzo isn’t listening, really.

Hanzo is a thousand miles away; staring into the distance, glassy eyed and pliant, the way he gets sometimes when someone touches him.

The way he’s been conditioned to respond— with docility. With submission.

The man pulls at Hanzo, who stands up obediently, staggering a little. Genji’s lip curls back from his teeth.

He stalks across the room, drawing the bartender’s attention, some overgrown cowboy in flannel and denim. The bartender follows his gaze, sees the man pawing at Hanzo. Frowns, and starts walking back down the bar, but Genji gets there first. 

He buries his fist in the man’s hair, jerking him back away from Hanzo and then slamming his face down onto the bar. There’s the crack of his nose breaking, and he falls down onto the floor, holding it while blood oozes between his fingers.

“Keep your fucking hands to yourself, you piece of shit,” Genji spits, standing in front of Hanzo, hands clenched into fists. Hanzo is wide-eyed now, awareness washing over him like he’s been doused in cold water— what had happened. What was going to happen.

Led away by some stranger, meek and compliant. 

The man pulls his hands away from his face, glaring up at Genji from the floor.

“What the FUCK! We was just talking! It ain’t any of your damned business, anyway!” 

“It is my business,” Genji says, the urge to lash out again overwhelming. He wants to hit him again.

Wants to put his hands around his throat, and squeeze until he feels the life go out of him. Genji wants him dead, and fiercely so. He’s killed better people for less. It’s been a while since Genji tore someone apart. It itches under his skin, now.

Genji seethes.

The bouncer is already crossing the room, a giant of a man with scars on his face, white hair pulled up in a bun. He’s looking to the bartender for direction, who nods his head down towards the man on the floor.

“Seems our patron here got a lesson in manners. Think it’d be best if you escorted him out.”

The bouncer doesn’t give him a chance to protest, jerking him up to his feet and hauling him across the bar by the elbow. Genji watches him go, scowling at his back and committing every detail of his appearance to memory. When Hanzo speaks up, his voice is soft, eyes darting around like he’s confused.

“I’m sorry,” Hanzo says, and Genji turns to face him with baffled expression.

He’s about to ask Hanzo why the hell he’s sorry when he hasn’t done anything wrong, but the bartender beats him to the punch, wiping out a glass and glancing between them.

“Nah, I’m sorry. That’s my bad. I try to keep an eye on things here, keep the creeps from being… well, creepy. This ain’t that kinda bar. Your drinks are on the house tonight, alright? Anybody bothers you or your uhhh… friend, there, you let me know. Name’s Jesse. This is my place, more or less.” 

Genji bristles at being called Hanzo’s  _ friend,  _ but he certainly doesn’t want to be his  _ brother  _ right now, even if the last names on their fake IDs all suggest as much. What they are has always been enough, in the privacy of their rooms, in the shadow of Hanzo’s blankets. 

It doesn’t feel like enough right now, Jesse glancing between them with a question in his gaze. 

With heat in his gaze. It’s subtle, the way he’s looking Hanzo over, but Genji can see the interest there. 

“We’re together,” Hanzo says, voice a little breathless. Genji’s head snaps towards him, brows raised in surprise. Jesse isn’t paying him any attention, looking at Hanzo with a smile.

“Oh, yeah?” There’s some disappointment in his voice, but he hides it fairly well. “Boyfriends, huh?”

Hanzo’s cheeks are flushed pink. He won’t look at Genji, glancing at his hands on the bar as he fiddles with his shot glass.

“He’s…” Hanzo pauses. Swallows. “We’re married.”

All Genji can hear is his heart pounding in his ears.

He can’t stop the ridiculous grin from spreading across his face. Jesse laughs, and it’s loud, and genuine.

“Aww, look at that fuckin’ face. Newlyweds?”

Hanzo’s cheeks go even brighter. Genji bumps his shoulder into Hanzo’s hard enough to rock him to the side.

“Something like that,” he says. Jesse’s answering smile is warm, and he pours them both another shot, clinking the bottle against their glasses with a wink.

“Well, y’all need anything you let me know.”

Jesse walks back down the bar to take care of his other customers. Genji picks up his shot, staring at the liquid with that stupid smile still on his face.

“So we’re married now, anija?”

Hanzo makes a noise in the back of his throat and downs his shot all at once, setting the glass back down on the bar with a loud clank.

“He was going to hit on me,” Hanzo says, and Genji hums. He was, probably, but Genji is surprised Hanzo noticed. “I didn’t want to deal with that, on top of… everything else.” Someone with their hands on Hanzo. Someone touching his thigh, leaning into his space. Genji’s expression darkens again. “I panicked. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Genji says, tossing back his shot as well. The heat burns down his throat, coils in his belly. Makes him brave. He lifts his hand and cups Hanzo’s cheek, coaxing his face to the side and staring at his mouth. “I like it,” he says, leaning in slow. It gives Hanzo time to flinch. Time to turn away. 

He doesn’t.

Genji presses his lips to Hanzo’s, lingering there against him for far too long, eyes open to watch his face. He’s so soft, warm just like Genji remembers. The noise of the bar fades into the background, until there’s nothing but their breathing, Hanzo leaning into his palm. He makes a quiet sound into the kiss, looking dazed when Genji finally pulls back. From the corner of his eye Genji can see Jesse watching, smiling softly at them from the other side of the bar. They hold hands all night long, Genji playing with Hanzo’s fingers in his lap. 

When they go back upstairs, they don’t take turns sleeping. There’s still space between them, but it’s smaller than before. Genji touches his mouth in the dark, feeling the heat where Hanzo kissed him.

He can’t stop smiling, Hanzo breathing deep and even in his sleep.

-

Genji buys them rings the next day. 

He has justifications ready— if Jesse owns the bar he might live in the building somewhere, and without rings, their story is less convincing. Even if he  _ doesn’t  _ live in the building, they could run into him in the bar again, or coming and going from it, not to mention the other employees Jesse might have told. It’s just easier to play along now. 

Genji knows it’s the flimsiest of reasoning. A lot of people back home don’t wear their wedding rings at all; the absence of them would likely be chalked up to cultural differences, or personal preference.

His excuses aren’t necessary, as it turns out. Genji sits down next to Hanzo on the bed— they only have one, mattresses laid directly on the floor, their apartment still mostly unfurnished. There’s a tiny table and two chairs in the kitchen. Their clothes are piled on the floor in the closet, cabinets empty of both dishes and food. They have plenty of money, but they don’t know anything about living on their own. 

For all the shit they’ve been through together, they were incredibly sheltered in some ways. Genji is still learning how to do their laundry, how to work appliances. How much effort it takes to keep things clean. The learning curve is steep. 

This is even harder. His palms are sweating. He’s so stupid. 

Genji pulls a ring box out of his pocket and opens it, revealing two platinum bands inside.

“Since we’re married, now,” he says, but it comes out more quietly than he intended, and without the teasing lilt he tries to imbue into the words. It’s a whisper, almost. 

There’s a beat of silence. Hanzo just stares, and nerves flare up in Genji, cheeks flushed and heart pounding. Why did he think this was a good idea?

Genji is an idiot.

Then Hanzo holds out his left hand, fingers splayed in obvious invitation. There’s a tremble in them; Genji pretends not to notice. He slips the band down on Hanzo’s finger until it sits snug against the knuckle, twisting it to see how it fits. It’s perfect. It looks like it belongs there, just like Genji knew it would. 

He offers the open box to Hanzo, who takes it from him and pulls out the remaining ring. Lifts it up to his face, held between his thumb and index finger, turning it so the silvery band catches the light. 

Genji holds out his hand. He’s shaking a little, too. His black nailpolish is chipped along the edges. Genji has scars along the knuckles of both hands; too many unyielding walls. Too much impotent fury.

Hanzo slides the ring down onto his finger, holding his own hand up next to Genji’s once he’s finished. They both stare for a while. The rings are identical, but their hands look so much different— Genji’s fingers are long and slender. Hanzo’s are shorter, thicker. The platinum is stark against his skin. Not just a wedding ring.

_ Genji’s  _ ring.

It’s something Genji has imagined countless times before, but only when things were particularly bleak; when Genji lay bleeding and half broken in his bed, or on the tatami mats in the dojo, thinking of what it would be like to leave Hanamura behind. To leave Sojiro, leave the clan. Run away, and never come back. A teenager’s ridiculous fantasy.

His wildest, most impossible dreams.

“Since we’re married, now,” Hanzo says, just as softly as Genji had, then gets up all at once and leaves the room. He’s staring at the floor as he goes. He’s got his hands pulled up to his chest, fingertips of his right brushing the metal band on his left.

He’s blushing.

Genji can’t stop touching the ring for hours afterwards. 

He can’t wait to take Hanzo back downstairs.

-

Jesse is working again when Genji tugs Hanzo through the doors of the bar again. It’s a weeknight, and the place is emptier than before, just a handful of determined drunks and few people who look like they’ve stopped by after work for a quick beer. He makes a beeline for the bar, pulling Hanzo along behind him, their fingers laced together. Now that he’s hyper aware of his own, it’s impossible to miss the rings on Jesse’s third finger, two of them glinting in the low light overhead.

“You’re married?” Genji finds himself asking incredulously as soon as they’ve sat down in front of him, before he’s even said hello. Jesse glances down at his own hand, pulling a pair of shot glasses from under the counter and sliding them over.

“Sure am,” he says, holding a bottle of vodka over the glasses and waiting for Genji’s approval. He nods, and Jesse pours, and shrugs. “Twice, actually. One of ‘em is a little more legal than the other, I suppose, but it don’t really matter none in the scheme of things. Jack ain’t much of a night owl but Gabe’s ‘round here somewhere.”

Not a moment later a man eases up behind Jesse, tall and broad and scarred, giving Genji and Hanzo a fairly blatant once-over as he lays a hand on Jesse’s waist to get his attention.

“Where’d you put those purchase orders,” he asks, and Jesse grins.

“Speak of the devil,” Jesse says, returning the vodka back to the shelf behind him and wiping up a stray drop from the bar. “Remember me telling you about that guy getting his face smashed in on the bar for being handsy? This here’s your boy.” Jesse looks at Genji again, one brow cocked up. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your names, last time.”

“Suzuki,” Genji says without missing a beat, then points at himself. “Sota.” Points at Hanzo, “Ryu.”

“Jesse Morrison,” Jesse says, then inclines his head towards the man beside him. “This is, unfortunately, one of my husbands, Gabriel Reyes.”

“Nice to meet you,” Genji says with a polite smile. Gabriel sighs, but it’s directed entirely at Jesse.

“You, too,” he replies. “Appreciate you taking care of the riff raff on our behalf, but try not to get any blood on my floor tonight, okay? Let Rein handle things next time.”

Genji shrugs and downs his shot without breaking eye contact.

“No promises,” he says. Gabriel smiles.

“Fair enough.”

They pay for their drinks.

They come back almost every night, for lack of anything else to do. It’s close. It’s easy.

Hanzo lets Genji touch him when they’re at the bar. Sometimes Gabriel is there. They meet Jack once, twice, always with tools in hand as he frowns at a rickety bar stool or squeaky hinge or uncooperative tap. He greets them politely without looking up from his work when he’s introduced, then Jesse nudges him,  _ these are the two I was telling you about. _

Jack looks at them, then. Nods again,  _ it’s nice to meet you, finally. I’ve heard a lot about you. _

Genji doesn’t know what that means.

Jesse lingers near the two of them when he can, making conversation that edges from friendly into flirtatious a lot more often than Genji would expect. It’s nothing aggressive. He does it where Gabriel can hear, where Gabriel can see; Gabriel seems curious more than anything. Genji doesn’t dwell on it.

It’s hard to focus on anything else when Hanzo is next to him, head resting on his shoulder, warm and loose with alcohol. When he’s smiling at the stupid things Genji says.

When he’s letting Genji lean in and kiss him, again, and again. Sometimes, Jesse is watching.

Sometimes, he’s nowhere to be seen. The pretense of keeping up appearances is stretched thin between, but Genji doesn’t care. 

He just wants to kiss Hanzo.

Wants Hanzo to kiss him back.

-

They don’t take off the rings.

People hit on Hanzo at the grocery store, or in the park. At the tattoo shop where they go to get new ink, the artist dark eyed and intense,  _ come get a drink with me sometime.  _ Hanzo lifts his hand,  _ no thank you, I’m married.  _ The artist looks at his hand. Looks at Genji.

_ Oh, my bad. I’m sorry. _

He isn’t really sorry, but he doesn’t ask again. Genji isn’t surprised— Hanzo is fucking gorgeous. It’s only gotten more pronounced with the clothes he wears, now. The piercings, the eyeliner. The stupid fingerless gloves.

They sleep together. Not the way Genji would like. Hanzo still still gets skittish when they’re alone and Genji eases close. He curls up next to Hanzo and waits until he’s asleep, then presses his forehead between Hanzo’s shoulder blades. 

Waits until he’s asleep, then shoves his face into Hanzo’s hair, and breathes. Out in the world, he’s Hanzo’s husband.

In the privacy of their room, he is Genji. It has always been enough.

It’s never been enough. Genji has always, always wanted more.

People flirt with Genji, too, but it’s less often, and less seriously. He asks Jesse about it, once. He’s joking, but only partly.

_ It’s obvious you’re not really interested,  _ Jesse says with an indulgent grin.

_ You’re always looking at him. _

It’s true, now. It’s been true for as long as Genji can remember.

All his fucking life, he can’t look away.

-

It comes as a surprise, even if it shouldn’t. Hanzo flusters when Jesse flirts with them, flushes when Gabriel winks. Genji always smiles— it feels harmless. Jesse is taken. They’re taken.

He should have known better.

Hanzo and Genji are drunker than usual, Genji clinging to him like a second skin, when Jesse asks them on a date. Genji frowns at him, head cocked to the side.

“You’re married,” he says. Jesse just laughs.

“So are you. I figured Gabe would come along. Or not, if y’all ain’t interested in that much company. He won’t mind too much, though I can’t promise I won’t kiss and tell.” Jesse winks. Genji stares.

Hanzo turns towards Genji with wide eyes like he doesn’t know what to say, a deer caught up in headlights. Genji tugs him to his feet, throws some money down on the counter.

“We’ll think about it,” he says hurriedly, pulling at Hanzo’s hand. “C’mon, anija. I’m tired. Let’s go.”

Jesse is calling something after them that sounds like an apology, but neither one of them stop to listen. Hanzo lets Genji draw him out the door, up the stairs, into their apartment. He goes easily. Docile.

Pliant.

Genji closes his eyes and doesn’t think of Sojiro. Doesn’t think of the elders. Doesn’t think of some stranger in the bar, palm on Hanzo’s thigh, taking him away. 

Doesn’t think of Jesse, and his wide smile, and his dark eyes. His hands on Hanzo’s face, mouth against his jaw. 

The door closes behind them and Genji presses Hanzo against it, face shoved into his shoulder, arms around his waist.

“I can’t do this,” he says. Hanzo is frozen against him. “I can’t keep… pretending to pretend. I want you so much, Hanzo. I miss you all the time. I was so fucking happy when you told Jesse we were married. We aren’t, but god, that’s what I want. Just you. Just me. Please, anija. If you don’t want me like that, like we were, I need you to tell me. I don’t want to hurt you but I don’t know how to stop.”

Hanzo’s hands are at his sides, clenched into fists. His eyes are open, staring off into nothing, just to the left of Genji’s head. Genji is surprised when he speaks. 

Hanzo seems like he is miles away.

“He saw us together. Did you know that?”

Genji frowns.

“Jesse?” Of course Jesse has seen them together. He sees them together every day.

“Father,” Hanzo says, vacant. All at once there is ice in Genji’s veins. His heart stutters. His breath catches. For a moment terror spikes through him, just as potent as if he was in his father’s room on his knees.

It’s been so long. Sojiro is nothing but ashes, and even those are on the other side of the world.

Genji is still afraid, sometimes. Not even death can soothe it all away.

“He saw us together. He came into my room one night, after you’d left. Crawled into bed with me. I thought it was you, I-” Hanzo takes a breath. Lets it out slow. “He told me that he’d kill you if he found out I’d been with you like that again. That he would cut you into pieces. That he would make me watch.”

Hanzo doesn’t say what else Sojiro did there; under Hanzo’s blankets. In Hanzo’s bed. Genji doesn’t need to close his eyes to imagine it— the way Sojiro’s fingers looked tangled in Hanzo’s hair. How big his hands were, splayed on Hanzo’s thighs. 

“Sometimes I’m half-asleep, and I think I’m back there. That— that he’s going to find us again, together in bed, and he’s going to get his tanto, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. It’s easier when we’re… out there, with people around. I know he isn’t there.” Hanzo looks at Genji, then, brows drawn together. “I watched them burn his body. I buried my hands in his ashes, and sometimes I still can’t believe he’s dead.”

Genji knows what that feels like— how their father’s bones burned to cinders seems like a fever dream. That it’s too good to be true. Hanzo takes Genji’s hand in his own, fingertips running over the cold metal of Genji’s ring.

“I still want you. I never stopped wanting you. But sometimes I touch you and it’s hard to breathe.”

Genji presses his forehead against Hanzo’s, both their eyes clenched shut.

“He’s gone,” Genji says. It’s for him just as much as Hanzo.

“I know,” Hanzo says. He laces their fingers together. “It’s getting easier. You’re not hurting me, just… I need time. Sometimes.”

Genji nods, tucking his face into Hanzo’s throat again. His cheeks are wet, and his head hurts. 

God, Genji hates crying.

“Okay,” Genji says, sniffing hard and pawing at his eyes. “Okay. Just… can I kiss you? Here? Now?” 

He doesn’t know what he’s allowed; Hanzo nods, though. Pulls Genji’s face up out of his chest, thumbs wiping his tears away.

They kiss like that for a while, Hanzo cupping his cheeks with both hands, Genji clinging to his wrists. They don’t break apart for a long time, but when they do, Genji is glaring.

“We are  _ not  _ going on a date with Jesse.”

Hanzo snorts and rolls his eyes.

“How tragic. How will I survive.”

Genji ignores him. Kisses him again, coaxing Hanzo’s jaw wider and licking into his mouth.

“You have to tell me,” he says, words mumbled against Hanzo’s lips. “You have to tell me when it’s alright. Okay?”

Hanzo nods and kisses him harder.

“It’s alright,” he says, sinking to the floor and tugging Genji down with him.

“I love you,” Genji says.

Hanzo doesn’t flinch.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things!


End file.
